A lance of light does not deceive him now.
The winds that with a scourge of twisted hail
Had driven him away from every trail,
Are curved caressingly about his brow.
“O cell, from you I often seek release,
Your wall has never yielded me rewards
Like glints of red and blue on snowy swards.
How slumber numbs my senses in your peace.”
And faintly dazed by flecks of changing gold,
Straight through the shining trees he makes his way,
And does not know the end will bring dismay.
He found the valley which he knew of old.
“They bend and sway with glaring crimson bows.
I dare the leap! But now—to whom to turn?
They made the long extinguished tinder burn,
I hate them, yet I blaze to clasp them close.
Why does my gaze explore the distant peak?
The arching stair, the figures saturate
With sun? They never falter in their gait.
To none of these my tongue shall ever speak.
To match my whim (already vengeance neared!)
I used to fashion stature, mouth, and eye.
Among the joyful rose my restless cry,
Is beauty always cheap? I asked and sneered.
But now my anguish hungers for a mien
Of sorrow, now a brow can strike me blind,
Lashes suffice to snare and sway my mind,
An arm entwined with rings of tourmaline.”
How could he bear to leave this mournful site
Again, when blooms of frost are dew, to weave
The dance with scarlet women and believe
In careless revelry and loud delight?
Could he return once more to what he said
Farewell that day, still yearning for its fill,
To life with parchments, true and tried, until
Restoring dreams surround his lonely bed?
Stop your turning vanes, O mill,
So the heath may sleep at will.
Ponds await a thawing wind,
Rimmed with crystal lance on lance,
And the little trees are lined
Up like varnished woodwax plants.
On the blind and frozen tide
White-clad children softly glide
Homeward from communion, pray
Silently to God whom learning
Set aloof, while some essay
Pleas to Him who yields to yearning.
Did a whistle shrill below?
All the candles faintly flow.
Was it not like voices weeping?
Dark enchanters cast a spell,
Draw their brides into their keeping.
Ring, O bell, ring out, O bell!
While you listen to whispering flames,
Close to your knee is my cheek and claims
Only a breath of your warmth. But the mad
Tides of blood to my temples show
That where you go I must not go,
And bliss still leaves me chained and sad.
When in pity you smooth my hair
I am rewarded, and though I dare
Disaster, I court your sublimity
Like the devout who, in spite of their dread,
Daily at Angelus turn their head
To a Madonna of ebony.
Why do you squander
Tears on a she?
Foolish to ponder,
Wait and see
If in the valley
Snow has gone,
South wind will rally
Blooms on the lawn.
Will you be seeing
Her unveiled
Still before fleeing
June has paled?
Why do you squander
Tears on a she?
Foolish to ponder,
Wait and see!
All youth (or
So it seems to you)
Craves to be caught in flame.
But dawns and twilights flew,
When, in your presence I was poised and calm.
You speak! I
Almost start in fright!
Can I be wound
In so much zeal and light
By gay and childish laughter—empty sound!
And later
(Do not doubt I grieved!)
Gently your foot still fell,
Your finger gently weaved,
I spurned—and only then I praised you well.
O sister,
You dislike this strain?
When I depart,
Never to come again,
Let this enigma bind us heart to heart.
To ancient lands the vaulted passage calls,
Tapering shaft,
And light through which the long-drawn strophe falls.
And there I quaffed
Sun, when I fled the dragon’s dripping claws.
A thorn impaled me at the garden gate.
Tearose, O yellow bloom,
Unflawed by white, aglow and saturate,
Strong and replete with doom.
Even a drop of dew would mar your state.
Too soon! I hanker after blandishment
First violets confer.
To seldom flowers in hothouse frames I bent,
And then, to float near her,
I loosened from my kerchief kindred scent.